There’s a little knot of people gathering around Roth. I can just about make out a tall bloke in a charcoal grey suit. Mike Watson is pumping his hand, there’s Sharon simpering and flicking her hair about, Rob Stanford is hovering, John’s kowtowing …
I glance over at Kitty’s office. Magnificently, she has not come out yet. She’s waiting for him to come to her. Kitty’s the ice queen. I wish to be just like her, career-wise, instead of sitting here morosely feeling inadequate all the time. Where does Kitty get this insane self-confidence?
Roth walks over towards her office now, having pressed the flesh, and sticks his head inside. He’s about five eleven. Same height as me. This is something I always notice about men – how many of them I tower over in an unattractive fashion. I feel sure that even if I were pretty, a man like Roth wouldn’t be interested in a woman who could look him right in the eye.
Charles is five four, five five tops. I can’t believe he actually wants to be seen in public with me. He’s probably a pervert or something. I shiver with horror at the idea of actually going out with him, we’ll look utterly ridiculous. Maybe he’ll let me order in. But then I’d have to share the experience with Lily and Janet and their perfect bodies. Just shoot me now.
Kitty says something to Roth, and he steps inside her office. And shuts the door. I sneak a look over at Mike Watson. He’s just standing there, looking all pissed off. You have to hand it to Kitty, she’s such a smooth operator, she’s not about to let anybody in. She has Roth all to herself.
The light on my phone flickers.
‘Yes?’
‘Anna?’ It’s Kitty. ‘Would you step into my office, please? There’s somebody I want you to meet.’
I blink. I can’t believe it. Kitty never does things like this. I get up nervously and knock on the door of her office, feeling John’s eyes boring jealously into my back.
‘Come,’ she says.
I open the door just a crack. Roth and Kitty are both sitting on the couch. Kitty looks all relaxed and at ease with the world. Is she on drugs?
‘Eli,’ she says, smiling broadly, ‘I want you to say hi to Anna Brown, one of my readers. Anna’s a great help to me refining the material I find.’
‘Hey,’ Roth says.
He’s young and powerful-looking. Broad shoulders, nicely defined muscles without being all steroidy, dark Hugo Boss suit, gold Rolex (natch). In fact if you were to conjure up the image of a Hollywood executive, all you’d have to do would be to stick a pair of shades on him and he’d be a perfect match. ‘Kitty tells me you’re a real asset to her team,’ Roth says, looking at me intently.
‘Oh – I – yes,’ I splutter. ‘Thank you, Mr Roth.’
‘When you call me that, sugar, I turn around and look for my dad,’ Roth says. ‘It’s Eli. We don’t stand on ceremony at Red Crest.’
Kitty looks at me. Obviously my moment in the sun is over now. That’s her ‘get out’ look.
‘Would – would you like some coffee?’
‘That’s OK,’ Kitty says.
‘I’m good for now, honey,’ says Roth.
‘Nice to meet you, Mr – Eli,’ I say, quickly withdrawing and shutting the door. I walk back to my desk on a high. Kitty introduced me to the boss! She actually introduced me to the boss! I feel a surge of gratitude. She’s finally taking me seriously.
Nothing happens after that until lunchtime. I flick through the book (crap, all the way through), type up more notes, and do important office things like playing Free Cell and Spider Solitaire, until finally it’s one o’clock and I can buzz Claire.
‘Want to go out?’
‘I shouldn’t. I’m not even a quarter of the way through Kitty’s call sheet,’ Claire says in mournful tones that make her sound like Eeyore.
‘Just knock off all the really boring ones. She’ll never notice.’
‘I really could use a fag,’ says Claire.
‘Perfect, come on, then,’ I say. ‘We’ll go out to Pret a Manger, my treat.’
‘All right,’ Claire says, perking up.
We go out to the front of the building where Claire quickly chain-smokes two Marlboro Lights, and then head off to the Pret down the road. I want a chicken curry sandwich, but it might make my breath smell, so I settle for a mozzarella, tomato and focaccia instead, along with some fresh squeezed orange and raspberry juice and some of those baked vegetable crisps. They can’t be that fattening, right? They’re not like real crisps, after all, they’re vegetables. Eli Roth would probably eat them.
Claire settles for sushi and a bottle of mineral water. She’s a cheap date.
We grab a couple of empty stools by the window and I’m about to tell her what happened with the script when she starts talking.
‘Sharon’s pretty cross, you know,’ she says darkly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘With you. She thinks you deliberately set up that book guy coming in to make her look bad.’
‘That’s insane,’ I say. ‘Sharon’s a moron, she never should have been promoted.’
Claire looks shocked. ‘She is a development executive now. You should be careful how you talk about her.’
‘Oh, that’s all rubbish!’ I exclaim, then add at her hurt look, ‘Come on, Claire. They’re just people. You’re not going to get anywhere letting them walk all over you.’
‘Well, you haven’t been promoted,’ she retorts, with a touch of spirit.
‘I might be,’ I say. ‘I’ve found a good script. Kitty promised me that if it goes anywhere I get made a junior D-girl too.’
‘Yeah,’ says Claire, darkly. ‘And she promised me a raise and an extra week’s holiday.’
‘Maybe things will be different now Eli Roth’s here.’
‘Or we could all get fired,’ says Claire. ‘But he’s something, isn’t he?’ She sighs. ‘Did you ever see anybody who looked like that? I mean in real life?’
‘He looks like an actor in a soap opera,’ I tell her.
‘Naw, he’s too sexy,’ she says. ‘Too masculine. He’s all pretty, but he’s not. It’s the muscles. Or something about the eyes.’ She primps her hair a little. I blink; this is Claire Edwards, the quietest piece of wallpaper in the world. ‘D’you think … you know, if I maybe went to a salon? And I could get a dress like Sharon’s?’
‘Do I think Eli Roth would fancy you?’
‘It could happen,’ she says, blushing.
‘Of course it could,’ I agree hastily, ‘Absolutely. And you’re much prettier than Sharon,’ I lie for good measure. ‘But you know, he’s probably got somebody at home in California. They don’t leave the rich good-looking ones on the market, do they?’
‘But he’s not in California now,’ says Claire slyly. ‘When the cat’s away the mice will play.’
They certainly will! Look at her! She’s shaking out her hair and examining her face in her powder compact mirror (she’s the kind of girl who still uses one of those). I wonder if tomorrow I’ll see her in make-up and fuck-me heels.
‘Well, good luck,’ I say.
‘Thanks,’ Claire says. She lowers her voice. ‘I bet Sharon wants him too.’
‘I expect lots of the girls will,’ I agree.
She looks despondent at the competition. ‘Oh well, if it’s meant to be it’s meant to be. Que sera sera,’ she says.
‘Absolutely.’
‘And you’ve got a new boyfriend too!’ she says, helpfully. ‘That book guy, Charles. That’s nice, isn’t it?’
‘Mmm,’ I say, non-committally.
‘At least I know you won’t be going after Eli Roth,’ she says, giggling.
I blink. ‘What’s so funny?’
She covers her mouth. ‘Oh. Nothing. I didn’t—’
‘You didn’t mean anything by it.’ I sigh. ‘It’s OK. Have you finished?’ I add, looking at her empty plastic tray. ‘Perhaps we should get back to the office. Eli Roth might be walking around our area right now.’
‘He might,’ she says
, panicked. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
When we get back in there’s a little Post-It note stuck to my computer from Rob, forced to give me my messages since Claire went out.
‘Meeting at 2pm in conf room 3,’ it says.
I check my watch. Fuck it! It’s two fifteen right now. When do we ever have afternoon meetings until three? Kitty is always out at some three-martini deal schmoozing somebody famous or powerful. And why conference room three? We always have initial story meetings in Kitty’s office, then she takes our recommendations to the development meeting where all the powerful people sit and scrap over what to try and make. And I’m about as likely to be invited to one of those as I am to win Miss America.
I grab my Mother notes and scamper down there. The conference room door has a little window in it and I can see there are loads of people sitting round the table. Everybody is going to notice me coming in late. I get a momentary urge to run, just go home and say I had a stomach ache …
I open the door as quietly as possible and try to sneak into the room. There are four executives sitting at the table – Kitty, Mike, Carl Smith, and Paul Walker. Their readers are all down the other end, with Sharon, who is looking furious at the seating arrangement. And right at the head of the table is Eli Roth.
Carl Smith is in the middle of a presentation, pitching an idea about toys who come to life and go evil and start attacking everybody. He’s sweating a bit and looking rather ruddy. He seems grateful for the interruption and stops, dramatically, as I take the last available seat, next to John and out of the way.
‘Afternoon, Anna,’ says Mike nastily. ‘Glad you could join us.’
‘Sorry,’ I mutter. ‘Lost track of time.’
‘We’re all usually very efficient,’ says Carl Smith to Eli. Kitty scowls at me. ‘Time is money,’ he adds.
‘I’m sure it’s a one-off,’ Eli Roth says kindly.
‘I do apologize, Eli,’ says Kitty, tightly.
‘Carl, why don’t you continue,’ Eli says, turning his face towards the board as I blush richly.
‘Well, I think this a great paradigm,’ Carl says loudly. ‘The script charts out like this…’ He pulls up a diagram. A diagram! For a movie script! ‘The Xs indicate where each plot point conforms to the Hero’s Journey mythological structure as invented by Christopher Vogler, and—’
‘It sounds like a fun project,’ says Roth, cutting him off. ‘But I think it’s been done before.’
‘Some ancient classic movie,’ says Carl defensively. ‘Gulliver’s Travels…’
‘No, recently,’ Roth says. ‘Small Soldiers.’
Carl looks blank, but clearly he isn’t going to say, ‘You what?’ Instead, he nods and clears his throat. ‘Maybe we can translate the elements to a new premise,’ he says, sitting down. I glance round the rest of the table. Everybody is looking blank. Of course. This is because they only notice movies that are on at their local multiplex, if then. They don’t bother keeping up with what happens in America.
‘You guys remember Small Soldiers?’ asks Roth. Apparently he is thinking the same thing. His eyes scan the room, and I notice that they have lost their friendly look and gone quite sharp.
Everybody looks down and makes notes on their pads so as not to catch his eye. There is a horrible silence.
‘Of course we do,’ I say, defensively. Somebody’s got to say something!
Roth’s head comes up and he looks at me. A slight grin plays across his mouth.
‘Anna Brown,’ he says. ‘We met this morning, right?’
‘Right,’ I mutter, going scarlet.
Roth leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. ‘Tell me about that movie.’
‘It was an Elliott/Rossio thing,’ I say. ‘Toys that came alive. Evil Barbie dolls.’
‘I don’t know those directors,’ says Carl sharply.
‘They’re not directors, they’re writers,’ I say.
‘Oh well, writers,’ he says scornfully. ‘No wonder I haven’t heard of them!’ He looks smugly around the table for support. A bunch of the executives snigger. And it’s true, writers don’t have much clout in Hollywood, usually. There are a whole legion of writer jokes: ‘Have you heard the one about the blonde? She was so dumb, she went to Hollywood and slept with the writer.’
I go red. Why does he have to be so mean? Our movies would be a bit better if we cared about the writers! You can have the biggest star and the biggest budget and if you’ve got a lousy script you’ve got a flop. Just look at Arnie in Last Action Hero.
‘I’m a little surprised,’ says Eli Roth evenly, to Carl. ‘Anna, you know some of their other movies?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Shrek, Aladdin, The Mask of Zorro—’
‘And Pirates of the Caribbean,’ Roth finishes for me. ‘One of the biggest films of all time.’
People stop sniggering and Carl opens his mouth like a landed fish, then thinks better of it.
‘Other ideas?’ Roth asks, and the meeting moves on. I sit there, listening to pitch after pitch, and watching the shutters coming down over Roth’s eyes. He’s obviously not impressed. Mike Watson pitches a couple of big budget sci-fi movies with muddy plots and a remake of a cult sixties TV show, and you can see him stifle a yawn.
‘Kitty?’ Eli says.
Kitty is the last development executive to go. She stands up and minces towards the presentation board in the front of the room, gold bracelets jingling.
Ooh. I sit up straighter. This will be fascinating, I’ve never actually seen her pitch. I’m usually the one pitching to her.
She runs through a couple of bog-standard ideas John offered her and there’s a general shaking of heads. Kitty shrugs her bony shoulders in her Chanel, unaffected.
‘I do have one more idea,’ Kitty says. ‘Something I found myself. It’s called Mother of the Bride.’
Found herself? What’s going on? I look at her, but she refuses to meet my eye.
‘It’s an interesting premise well executed,’ she says confidently, ‘and it won’t cost much to make.’
She’s quoting my coverage!
‘The movie’s about a socialite,’ Kitty says, ‘who’s ruining her own daughter’s wedding…’
And I just sit there while she tells the story in a nutshell. She even whips out the script and quotes a few of the funnier lines I had highlighted in yellow pen.
‘That’s interesting,’ Eli says. His eyes are sparkling now. ‘That’s really funny. I haven’t seen a good older lead flick in a long time. Where did you find this?’
Kitty waves one hand airily, her diamond flashing away.
‘Personal contacts,’ she says. ‘I gave it to Anna to write the coverage on.’
Eli glances at me. I sit there, dumbstruck. Should I say something? Kitty’s eyes are like chips of ice.
‘Right, Anna?’ she asks pleasantly.
I nod miserably. ‘Right.’
Kitty relaxes perceptibly and flashes me a smile.
‘Well, this has got potential,’ Roth says. ‘Make some copies of the script and the coverage and send it round to everybody, could you?’
‘No problem,’ Kitty purrs.
‘Great job,’ he says to her. ‘OK, I think I’ve got a lot to work on here. Thank you all.’
* * *
Kitty puts her hand on my shoulder as we’re walking out of the meeting and squeezes it tight. ‘Go straight to my office,’ she says.
I walk right there, sit on the sofa and wait. I feel all nervous and sick, little prickles of adrenaline crawling all over my skin like spiders. Kitty comes in a second later and shuts the door.
‘I hope you understand what went on in there,’ she says.
‘Not really.’ I cough. ‘I found the script…’
Kitty shrugs impatiently. ‘We work as a team. I want to get your movie made, Anna, and that means it needs the right backing. If Eli thinks it comes from an executive, he’ll listen longer, he’ll consider it more carefully – and who cares how we
get it done, as long as we get it done?’
‘But I won’t get any of the credit,’ I say in a small voice.
‘You don’t need to,’ she says slowly, as if explaining things to a very small child. ‘I know. I’m your champion in this firm. Mike Watson tried to have you sacked last month, did you know that? And I stood firm.’
‘But how will it advance my career?’
‘Everybody will read your excellent coverage, for a start,’ Kitty says. ‘Why, even Eli Roth will notice you. I introduced you, didn’t I?’
‘Yes,’ I admit.
‘And that was only the start,’ Kitty says. ‘I’ll he making sure you climb up the ladder. We’re a team.’
She hands me a typed sheet of paper. It’s a memo to Personnel asking that I get a raise.
I have to read it three times, I can’t quite believe Kitty’s done this. I know she promised, but I never trusted her. Obviously I am just a manipulative person who reads the worst into everyone else.
‘That’s great,’ I say, stunned. ‘Th-thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she says, smugly. ‘Of course you realize you’ve now agreed that I found the script. It’s very important we stick to that. So as not to look foolish.’
‘Oh. Sure.’
‘And bring the writer in for a meeting with me,’ Kitty says. ‘Better still, just give me her phone number. I should make contact.’
I write it down for her.
‘Thanks, Anna,’ Kitty says warmly. ‘This is going to be a very exciting time for you. You’re going to see this project succeed.’
She turns back to her desk, to show the meeting is now over.
I hover around the door.
‘Yes?’ she says, a little impatiently.
‘The raise is great,’ I say. ‘Wonderful, really, but what about the promotion? I’m still going to get that, aren’t I?’
‘Absolutely,’ Kitty says. ‘But right now isn’t a good time, not until Eli settles on whom he’s going to hire. I don’t think we should push him just yet. If this project is a success, then the sky’s the limit. As long as you and I stick together.’
‘OK.’
‘I’ve been looking for a younger woman to mentor,’ Kitty says, musingly. ‘There aren’t enough of us in this business, Anna, and I think you might be the one.’
The Go-To Girl Page 8
